Three Way (18 page)

‘No...well I’m a bit drunk but I was listening and I think-’

‘I’m tired Ollie, I’m going to bed.’ She goes into the living room and closes the door. I’m not sure exactly what happened there. Okay, I can see she was annoyed someone listened to her song but it’s not like I had to make excuses about how shit it was. It wasn’t. It was incredible. Like listening to someone on the radio. She may not think she’s any good but now I’ve heard her, I’m going to make sure others do as well.

I wake up around eleven. I glance at my iPhone and collapse back onto the bed. Parker is home, I hear him playing on the Playstation in the living room. I feel mildly hungover and in desperate need of a drink of water. I smell my armpits, yep could do with a shower as well. I walk into the bathroom in my dressing gown.

‘You up, shitkicker?’ Parker calls.

‘Nope,’ I shout back.

‘Great,’ he replies. I jump into the weak electric shower and wash myself. My mind drifts back to last night. Lauren. Am I starting to feel something for her? She’s beautiful and smart. So, why not? I could do a lot worse, I guess. Fuck Svetla, I don’t need her. I don’t need to be constantly thinking about her. The whole thinking about her drives me nuts. Probably drives you nuts too. I’m sorry I keep going on about her, just need to think about something else. Someone else. Lauren maybe? She would be a new direction in my life. I need to work out what I’m going to cook her for our date. It has to be something that will knock her out. Svetla always liked my Thai curry. Just so we’re clear, it wasn’t my Thai curry, it was Sharwoods. Not sure if Lauren even likes Thai. Who cares what Svetla liked anyway, this is a new page. A new chapter. I do need to figure out what I’m going to cook though. I step out of the shower, pull on some clothes and walk into the living room. Parker pauses Grand Theft Auto.

‘So I have a question for you,’ he says.

‘Yeah?’ I reply, noting the serious expression on his face.

‘Have you been going in my room?’ he asks. Shit, Ashley must have left evidence.

‘No. Why?’

‘Things have been moved around, there’s stuff on my piano that wasn’t there before. Someone’s been in there, and if it wasn’t you, it must have been Ashley. I’m going to fucking crucify her.’

‘Well what if it was Nicola or someone?’ I say. I know, it’s lame but I don’t want to get Ashley in trouble.

‘What? Don’t be a fuckwit. Nicola doesn’t go into my room unless I’m there.’

‘Hmm, yeah okay,’ I say. Maybe I should take the rap. Parker and Ashley are only just starting to get on, don’t want this to screw that up.

‘Okay it was me,’ I say. Parker tilts his head.

‘What the fuck man?’

‘I know, I know. I lost something and I thought it might be in your room.’

‘What?’ he asks. Shit. Umm, what could I have lost…quickly…

‘Uhh, my ID for work. Sorry dude.’

‘Why would your ID be in my room?’

‘You’re right. I’m sorry, I won’t go in there again.’

‘Good. Don’t. If you’ve lost something, just tell me and I’ll help you look for it but don’t go wandering into my private space without asking. Those are the rules, yeah?’

‘Yep, got it. Sorry,’ I say. We sit for a moment, neither saying anything.

‘I didn’t find any porn if that’s what you’re worried about.’

‘Why would I be worried about that, no one has physical porn any more. That’s what the internet is for,’ he replies, resuming his game.

‘I see your face is healing,’ says Paul. I nod, in agreement. ‘Need you to go to Bicester.’

‘Oh, I was just going to get the latest details on Ollie’s love life,’ says Julie. I stand up and grab my coat.

‘Sorry mate, guess it will have to wait. What’s the job?’ I ask.

‘Is it going well?’ asks Julie, winking.

‘Julie please,’ says Paul. She holds up her hand in apology. ‘Need you to interview a doctor about the dodgy botox story.’

‘Dodgy botox?’ I ask.

‘Front page of the Mail, here,’ he throws me a copy. I look at the headline which reads ‘NHS Bill For Deadly Botox.’ Some company manufacturing botox injections was seemingly using cheap ingredients and has now gone bust leaving people in limbo about what to do about it. Says in some cases the injections could cause cancer.

‘Okay, who’s the interviewee?’

‘One of the doctors who’s going to report to the Health Secretary on Wednesday.’

‘Great. I’m on my way. Catch up later, Julie?’

‘Definitely,’ Julie says.

‘Anything from, you know who?’ I ask. Julie shakes her head. God, she looks like she might cry. What the hell is this Josh guy playing at? Look I don’t know the fundamentals but Julie’s a nice enough girl, if a little kooky, she deserves a proposal. I’m sure it’s only a matter of time.

I head down to the garage to meet the cameraman. It’s Phil, the guy whose second name I can never remember. The garage is filled with estate crew cars and the odd satellite vehicle.

‘Hey,’ I say.

‘Alright,’ he replies, ‘where we going?’

‘Bicester,’ I reply, getting into the passenger seat.

‘Great, I love Bicester.’

‘Really?’

‘No, it’s a pain in the arse and I should be on lunch but apparently (he puts on a whiney voice for the next bit) there wasn’t anyone else that could go.’

‘Ah well, at least you’ve got a nice producer.’

‘Yeah, great,’ he replies, getting in and slamming the door shut.

We drive out of the garage and head west. Phil doesn’t say much and my mind is blank for small talk so we sit and listen to the radio. This could be a perfect opportunity to catch up on some sleepage. I feel the need to call Lauren. Is that wrong? Needy? I want to arrange another date. Fuck it. I whip out my iPhone and call her. It seems to ring for ages until

‘Well hello there,’ she says.

‘Hi,’ I reply, ‘how you doing?’

‘Yeah not bad, I just had to sneak out of a meeting.’

‘Oh sorry.’

‘It’s okay. What are you doing?’

‘On my way to Bicester to do an interview, what are you doing?’

‘Losing money left, right and centre.’

‘Oh dear, doesn’t sound good.’

‘Nah, we’ll be fine, just one of those days.’

‘Yeah, right.’

‘So…are you going to invite me round for dinner then?’

‘Uh, yeah that’s actually why I was calling. What date’s good for you?’ I ask, leaning forward to open my bag. Where the hell’s my diary. I locate it and flip it open.

‘I’m free this Friday, the seventh, any good?’ she asks. Frankly I’m free everyday but I don’t want her knowing that so I do a bit of umming and ahhing. ‘Or the eighth?’

‘Yeah, eighth would be better,’ I reply.

‘Excellent, the eighth it is. That’s this Saturday coming.’

‘Yeah I know,’ I reply, smiling.

‘Alright, just want to make sure I don’t turn up to find out you’ve forgotten and we end up getting fish and chips or something.’

‘You don’t like fish and chips?’ I ask. I’m rather enjoying this little flirty conversation until, that is, Phil clears his throat indicating his disapproval. ‘Uh, well anyway Saturday’s good. Better go, things to do, important people to interview.’

‘You’re so cool,’ she says, playful sarcasm in her voice.

‘I know. I’ll see you then.’

‘Okay. Bye hero.’

‘Bye.’ I hang up, smiling. I sit, replaying the conversation in my head, enjoying the sound of it. Damn, she’s keen. If only Svetla could see what Lauren looks like, she’d be so narked.

‘So who was that, your mother?’ Phil asks, his face serious.

‘Uh no. Actually it was that girl we did that interview with in the City. Lauren?’ Phil frowns, he clearly has no recollection of the event I’m describing. ‘You know, blonde girl at United Bank. The manager.’

‘Nope,’ he replies.

‘Seriously? You don’t remember her?’

‘No.’

‘The stunningly gorgeous trading manager who was flirting with me.’

‘Flirting with you?’

‘I forgot your name at reception.’ Slowly. And I mean painfully slowly, Phil’s expression changes. A shadow of a memory passes over his eyes.

‘Oh her. You’re going out with her?’

‘That’s right. Cool huh?’

‘How?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘How does someone like you get someone like that?’ Phil asks, he glances at me. It’s a serious question.

‘I honestly have no idea. Maybe it’s my job.’

‘Right,’ Phil replies, nodding, ‘yep, that’s it.’ The way he says it with such certainty makes me feel uncomfortable.

We arrive in Bicester and navigate to the address. Our interviewee is a professor normally working out of Oxford University. Whoever set this up obviously asked if it was okay to do the interview at his home. I help Phil with the gear, carrying the tripod to the front door. I knock. An elderly woman opens the door.

‘Yes?’ she whispers.

‘Hi there, we’re from TBN. We’re here to interview Professor McGain.’

‘Oh yes. I’ll just call up to him,’ replies the old woman. She leaves the door open, I’m about to go in when my phone rings. I carefully place the heavy tripod on the floor and yank the iPhone out.

‘Hello?’

‘It’s Paul.’

‘Hi.’

‘Need you to go to Chequers, PM is going to make a statement on North Korea.’

‘I haven’t done the interview with the doctor yet.’

‘Forget the doctor. Downing Street wants to do this within the hour.’

‘Fuck’s sake,’ I say under my breath. ‘Okay, can you email me the postcode? How far is it from here?’

‘About forty-five minutes, so get on your way. I’ll brief you when you’re moving.’ Paul hangs up.

‘Right, we’ve got to go to Chequers for a PM statement on North Korea,’ I say to Phil.

‘Oh brilliant,’ Phil says. I turn towards the house and step inside. It has a musty smell and there are holes in the carpet.

‘Hello?’ I call, ‘I’m really sorry but…’

‘Are you Ollie from TBN?’ a tall, distinguished looking man is suddenly standing next to me.

‘Uh, yes,’ I reply.

‘I’m Professor McGain,’ he says.

‘Hi professor. Listen, I’m really sorry but the newsdesk have told us we have to do a Prime Minister statement at Chequers so I’m afraid we’ll have to cancel.’

‘Oh. But I’ve just driven here from a meeting.’

‘Oh no. I’m really sorry.’

‘Right.’ The man is not happy but I haven’t got the time.

‘Phil we’ve got to go.’

‘Very sorry sir,’ I say as we head out of the door. Now I feel like an arsehole.

I check my phone as soon as we’ve loaded the gear back in the car. Paul has sent me an email with the details. It reads:

From: Paul Enright-News

To: Oliver Hayward

Subject: PM statement